Dulcie didn't like being in the house with these men. She didn't see how they were going to get the key when it was in Luis's pocket and then under his pillow. But they had to try, they had to free the caged cats. Luis was complaining about being up all night, so maybe they had been to a fence, maybe in the city. Maybe, tired and full of breakfast, they'd sleep.

And, yes! The next minute, when Maria asked Luis if he wanted more eggs, he snapped at her and rose, shoving back his chair. "I'm going to bed! Keep the damned house quiet." Dulcie glanced at Joe, excited because they could get on with searching. But scared out of her paws to try for the key. When Luis went to bed, would he take his pants off? In the daytime?

No cat would be fool enough to slip a paw into Luis's pocket when Luis was still in the pants.

Or would he? She looked at Joe, and wasn't so sure.

They drew deeper under the dresser as Luis headed down the hall-and as another car pulled up the drive. They heard its door open, and then the click of high heels. The front door opened. A woman called out: "Luis? Maria? You home?" Chichi's voice. The cats listened to her strident, whisker-wilting giggle as her high heels clicked across the entry. Luis, coming down the hall, quickly stuffed the roll of bills in his pocket and pulled his shirt out to hang loose. The implications of the blonde's easy, familiar entrance, the affirmation that she was tight with this family-but not totally so-held Joe and Dulcie tense with interest.

"Thelist is shaping up," Chichisang out, waving a notebook at Luis and taking his arm to turn him back toward the kitchen. They sat down at the table across from Tommie; she dropped her purse on an empty chair. Silently Maria set a cup of coffee before her, then returned to shoving dishes into the ancient dishwasher. Their voices lowered, as if not wanting Abuela to hear, Luis and Tommie studied the notebook.

Listening, Joe slipped out from under the dresser, heading for the hall. Dulcie grabbed the skin of his rump in her teeth. "Let me," she said through jaws clenched firmly onto his hide. "I don't have white markings, I can fade into the carpet. And Chichi's seen you. I could be any stray that wandered in."

Joe looked at her doubtfully, but he drew back. His look said clearly that if anyone laid a hand on her, he'd skin them with his bare claws.

Creeping down the hall, Dulcie hugged the baseboard, her belly sliding along the faded runner. Just outside the kitchen she melted into the shadow cast by the partially closed door. The room smelled of chorizo and sour dishes. Luis sat with his elbows on the table where he had spread out a large sheet of paper that must be the map. As Chichi read off her notes, he repeated the names of several village streets and shops, which she helped him find. Dulcie peered up at the tall refrigerator, longing for a higher perch from which she could see.

Was this woman the brains of their burglaries, or only the messenger gathering information? Listening to Chichi's detailed rundown of the times that the jewelry stores and other shops opened, of how many employees were there to both start and end the day, whether male or female and approximate age, Dulcie was soon so wired she could hardly be still. They were taking great care with their plans.

Chichi had run her surveillance both morning and evening, as if the thieves had not yet decided the best times for the burglaries. Were they planning multiple burglaries all at one time? They were smug indeed to think they'd get away with that. With the information Dallas and Harper now had, and would soon have, these hoods would be in jail before they broke the first window.

"People will be coming in all week," Chichi said. "Cluttering up the streets. And a jazz parade on Saturday. I don't think…"

"Cops'll be up to their ears," Luis said, smiling with satisfaction. "Snarled traffic, a real mess. Their minds'll be on tourists and crowd control."

"You want traffic and crowds, why not wait until the big antique car show instead of this local yokel jazz festival. I don't see…"

"That's months away. I've got twenty idle guys about to go nuts. You think they're going to wait all summer?"

"Give them something else to do. Take them up the coast, hit a few beach resorts."

"You want to pay their gas and rent and food bills? Twenty guys? And that antique car show, they'll bring in every cop on the coast and the whole damn CHP. Those cars are worth a mint. Cops cluttering the streets everywhere. That's the trouble, working with a woman!"

"I got the information, didn't I? And I'll tell you this, Luis," she said sullenly. "You're going to use the jazz festival, you better look at the early evening closings, when the town's jammed. Some of those stores'll stay open, but the jewelry stores won't. And your cover's no good, first thing in the morning. No one'll be on the streets in the morning. All the mornings I've wasted getting up early…"

"This stuff's none of your business anyway. You do what you're told, you don't tell me what to do. It was different in L.A." He looked her up and down, taking in her tight pink sweater that offered plenty of cleavage, her skintight black jeans. "Half of these, you got no closing time. I said to…"

"I got closing times on the jewelry stores. I'm not finished." She flipped the notebook page. "Here's the frigging closings." But, confronted with Luis's rising rage, she seemed to draw back, turning suddenly as docile as Maria.

When Luis finished marking his map, Chichi tore out the pages, handed them to him, and put the empty notebook in her purse. Where had her spunk gone, all of a sudden? The woman's brassy nerve seemed just to have vanished.

Did Luis beat her? Dulcie could see no marks on her, but that didn't prove anything. The puzzled tabby cat remained crouched on the faded hall runner until the men began yawning again and started to rise; then she streaked for the bedroom.

Their shoes scuffed down the hall as she fled under the dresser, ramming into Joe. She was barely hidden when they came in. Luis sat down on the unmade bed nearest the door and pulled off his shoes, dropping them on the floor on a tangle of blanket. His feet smelled awful. How often did he wash those socks? Was he going to take off his pants and shove them under his pillow, or keep them on? The cats grew so nervous, waiting, that they could hardly breathe. From the kitchen they could hear Chichi and Maria talking softly among the clicking sounds of cutlery and plates and running water.

What would they be talking about, dumpy little Maria who looked so browbeaten, and brazen Chichi Barbi with her carefully collected hit list-brazen until a few minutes ago? Yet the two women seemed close; there was a gentle sympathy in their voices, which intrigued Dulcie.

Joe laid his ears back in annoyance when Luis lay down on the bed fully clothed, tucking his feet under a lump of the blanket. Well, Dulcie thought, so much for that. How comfortable could it be to sleep with one's pants on? That was another plus to being a cat: no confining pants and shoes. Tommie pulled down the yellowed blinds under the lace curtains, stripped down to his shorts, and dropped his clothes on the floor, grumbling as he pulled up the tangle of covers and crawled underneath. The cats waited some time before both men were snoring. Then they slipped out from under the dresser and, despite any fear Dulcie might harbor, Joe reared up against Luis's bed, looking.

He was just reaching out a paw when Chichi came down the hall.

Quick as a pair of terrified mice the cats were under the dresser again, crouching in the dusty dark peering out at her. She stood in the doorway observing the sleeping men.